Pasiphaë, Holding the Horns

Pasiphaë, Holding the Horns

of the froth-white Bull
on the shore, who dipped
his head as if bowing.
She had surged forward
with the tide swirling
around his heavy hooves,
slowly drawing away
thick, wet sand beneath.
A moment’s hesitation,
a cold shudder swimming
through her body,
but when the sea rose
once more to lick at her toes,
silver silk came slipping
from her maidens’ fingers.
The Bull nibbled seed-corn
from her palm, rough
fat tongue dripping
saliva between her fingers.
Along the broad back, deep white
valleys show the tracings
of muscle and sinew,
her fingers cresting like
seafarers across its flanks.
Dark eyes, the heavy
snorting of ocean mist,
cool and fiery against
the backs of her thighs.
She grasped the rounded
gold horns, awaiting
high tide and the shock
of sea foam

Published in 1991 Francis Marion College Writers’ Retreat: Prize Manuscripts, June 1991.

"How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet, trans. M.D. Herter Norton